


All this time, I have been yours

by cathgotyourtongue



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Depressing Themes, Hanahaki Disease, Iwaizumi Hajime-centric, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-27
Updated: 2020-06-27
Packaged: 2021-03-03 21:46:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,710
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24942544
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cathgotyourtongue/pseuds/cathgotyourtongue
Summary: Iwaizumi Hajime struggles through the Five Stages of the Hanahaki Disease.
Relationships: Iwaizumi Hajime/Oikawa Tooru, Iwaizumi Hajime/Sugawara Koushi, Oikawa Tooru/Ushijima Wakatoshi
Comments: 41
Kudos: 174





	All this time, I have been yours

**Author's Note:**

> Title is taken from the song [Lifetime](https://open.spotify.com/track/3X9c4tBzSdGhlO4Fx3WYgW) by Ben&Ben. I recommend listening to it for a more immersive experience :D
> 
> My version of Hanahaki Disease is heavily influenced by [this.](https://www.wattpad.com/716763727-stages-of-hanahaki-disease-stage-1) Again, English is not my first language, so if there are any mistakes, please let me know.
> 
> Enjoy!

Stage 1. Awakening

Iwaizumi Hajime is not usually one to dwell on past mistakes. He believes in second chances, in being able to redeem oneself after a failure.

But after losing that last chance at redemption, Iwaizumi is starting to believe otherwise.

Losing the semi-finals on their last year because of that one moment of incompetence, he thinks, is unforgivable. Even if his teammates tell him otherwise. Even if he knows that a game is always played with all their strengths combined. His captain slaps him on the back, but he finds no comfort in the gesture. Because whenever he sees Oikawa, he sees the looming shadows of his unrivaled potential, and he cannot accept that all of it is wasted on him.

So here he is, looking for the nearest empty restroom on the second floor where he can break down. In private. No one needs to see the ace so broken. No one needs to see him mourn his failure as the team’s pillar of strength. No one needs to see something so disgraceful.

In the back of his mind, he wonders where Oikawa might be. Is he crying over the loss? Is he recalling every set he made?

Does he regret trusting him with the last one?

He finds the last restroom in the entire arena and he walks to it, hoping this time it will finally be empty.

He's already inside when he hears movement from the furthest stall, and he gives up on having his alone time in this place altogether. Instead, he turns to the sink and splashes his face to get rid of the salt stains left on his cheeks.

The shuffling grows louder, and now he could hear muffled groans as well, coming from the suspiciously still occupied stall.

Iwaizumi sighs. Leftover adrenaline is common, especially during official tournaments. Athletes need to find a way to let them out, lest they remain anxious or frustrated for the rest of the day. And that is probably what the guy in the last stall is busy doing right now.

But a glance at the reflection tells him the guy is not alone, and if his brain is a little bit slower, Iwaizumi might have found it amusing.

Except he easily recognizes his own team's track pants, its owner's legs spread wide to accommodate another person in between them.

A person wearing Shiratorizawa's own uniform.

Iwaizumi tries to recall all their interactions with Shiratorizawa. Even outside official matches, during the sporadic joint practice they've had through the years, conversations with the rival team's members were always tense; the aggressive competitive streak emanating from their captain hanging over their heads, persuading them to feel the same.

Iwaizumi couldn't think of anyone in their team who might have this kind of relationship with any one of them.

He is still deciding whether or not to leave or to stay and find out who they were, privacy be damned, until he hears a whisper, loud enough to echo in this empty, tiled room and reach Iwaizumi's ears.

"Ushi-- _ah!_ "

Iwaizumi bolts out the door. He runs through the corridors, maneuvering around the crowds of visitors and athletes. He doesn't look where he's going, doesn’t look back. He just keeps running, away, away, _away_ from where he had just heard his best friend moan his nemesis' name.

Because that _had_ been Oikawa. He knows that voice, memorized it, lived with it like a ringing noise in his ears that never goes away, like a song stuck in the corners of his mind; known it so well that it's become the voice of his inner conscience, an annoyance as much as it is a constant reassurance.

Now there's nothing in his mind but Ushijima's name, barely spoken before Oikawa's breath was interrupted by something that must've felt particularly good, with the way he gasped, like he had been stopping himself from making a noise but just couldn't help himself.

He rubs his ears hard with his fists, like the noise would quiet down the deafening echoes of Oikawa moaning Ushijima Wakatoshi's name. He shakes his hands like he could physically rid himself of what could only be revulsion crawling into his skin from the very tips of his fingers.

There's a secluded staircase ahead and he runs to it, stopping only when he reaches the landing halfway to the lower floor.

He bends forward, gripping his knees hard. He's trying to level his breathing when he feels it, a sudden snag in his throat that has him coughing non-stop into his hands, an attempt to clear the clogged passage.

Annoyance slowly turns into panic when Iwaizumi realizes that the clog in his throat is too solid to be phlegm, to be anything that naturally comes out of a person's mouth, and it's not budging at all.

There are tears streaming down his face, and he can no longer breathe in between the forceful hacking when he feels something wet slap against his palms the same time his throat clears up. When he finally pulls his hands away to see what had caused his coughing fit, his entire body freezes.

A single bud, petals not even mature enough to bloom, small and bright and bloody, rests on his calloused palm.

Iwaizumi refuses to look at him again that day. He refuses to see the bashful smile, the tousled hair, the tired and guilty yet satisfied expression on his face—the look of someone fucked well and true—and takes the solo seat in the bus on their way home.

The first thing he does the next day is hide in the school library. He tucks himself into his usual seat near the reserved area, away from the bickering students and shushing staff. This has been his hideout for so long, only seeking its refuge whenever the rest of the world gets a little bit too loud, especially with a best friend whose voice tends to trump any and all levels of noise.

He plops the book he found in the health section on the table. Ironically, he had first heard about this condition from Oikawa, who in turn had heard it from a fan girl. They speak of flowers growing from within, of thorny vines climbing up one's throat, piercing every muscle it comes in contact with.

He had laughed at it all back then. And if they hadn't sounded painfully familiar and not at all similar to what is happening inside him, he'd laugh at it again.

Perhaps he's just looking for reassurance; perhaps he'd run through this medical encyclopedia and discover that the bud that came from his mouth had been a fluke, a stray object in his lunch. Perhaps it's all but a mere myth.

He flips through the pages, until he reaches the part where the writings start to resemble the things he had read on the internet and his heartbeat accelerates, pumping harder and faster with every flip of paper, his fingers shaking the entire time.

He comes across exactly what he is dreading to find, and Iwaizumi's world screeches to a halt.

_Hanahaki Disease_

_A disease wherein dopamine, oxytocin and serotonin are released at dangerous amounts with extreme fluctuation. This hormonal imbalance causes the abnormal growth of odorless floral fungi within the person’s throat, trachea, and bronchial tubes, resulting in breathing difficulties and frequent vomiting. Victims in the later stages may experience more extreme symptoms. (See: Five Stages of the Hanahaki Disease.)_

_(cont.)_

His world begins to turn once more, but Iwaizumi remains still.

* * *

Stage 2. Germination

They don't speak of that day, and Iwaizumi is relieved. The mere fact that Oikawa refuses to talk about it assures him that it had been a one-time thing, a means to an end.

But the relief is short-lived. Two months later, he's pulling another chair into their usual four-seater booth and takes his seat, relinquishing his regular place beside a beet-red Oikawa.

"Mind telling us how this happened again, Captain?"

"And leave out the gory details, please. We don't want to hear about the wild, vigorous sex you've been having with your archenemy." Hanamaki winks at Ushijima.

"What!? He's no-- How did you-- I don't even know what you're talking about!"

"Oh, you know _exactly_ what we're talking about." Matsukawa mimics Hanamaki's smile, wagging his eyebrows suggestively.

The setter buries his face in his hands. He's blushing all the way to his ears and chest now, and the colors splashed over his skin make him look even more adorable. So much that Iwaizumi finds himself looking pointedly away.

"You're limping, Oikawa. You've been limping for three days in a row now."

"Iwa-chan!"

He joins in on the banter, as is expected of him. He does this all the while gauging the weight in his chest, trying to breathe past the flower buds blocking his air. He risks a look at Oikawa's bright, glowing face and he couldn't look away at the sight. A soft smile rests on his lips, a satisfaction he allows himself to feel upon seeing the happiness reflecting in the setter's eyes.

He doesn't notice the curious look that settles on him. He doesn't see Ushijima glancing at Oikawa, and then back at him again, a connection forming in his mind instantly. He doesn't notice the way Ushijima's regard for him changes almost instantly as he realizes, only then, how Iwaizumi Hajime might be an even bigger obstacle that he had initially thought.

The rest of their high school days pass by in a blur, and all of a sudden they are thrusted out into the unforgiving world, filled with college courses and part time jobs and life-altering career plans. The four of them enter different universities in Tokyo, taking degree programs decided almost on a whim; too excited to face head on whatever life throws at them, none of them truly set on one goal.

None except for Oikawa, who had gone professional in their first year in college, scouted to play in the first division league with Ushijima while religiously keeping up with his studies in university.

Iwaizumi and Oikawa forge ahead with their plan to share an apartment, and Iwaizumi has been over the moon.

They have known each other for so long that nothing ever surprises them about the other anymore: Iwaizumi is used to Oikawa’s terrible cooking. Oikawa is used to seeing Iwaizumi walk around half naked. Iwaizumi knows to buy Oikawa’s lavender scented shampoo every two weeks. Oikawa knows Iwaizumi hogs the covers at night.

Because even with their own beds, and their own separate rooms, Oikawa will inevitably end up slipping underneath Iwaizumi’s covers in the middle of the night.

And Iwaizumi keeps his door unlocked, because he wouldn’t have it any other way.

Everything starts out fine. And with Oikawa's constant presence, the disease has become relatively manageable.

Up until the third month, at least. Up until Ushijima comes to visit their place for the first time. To spend the night with Oikawa. In Oikawa's own room. Alone. Together.

If his lungs hadn't kept him awake the entire night, the headboard of Oikawa's bed banging on their shared wall would have.

At least Oikawa had the courtesy to swallow the noises he made throughout the entire ordeal. At least Iwaizumi didn't get to actually hear how much Oikawa had enjoyed every minute of it.

At least he wouldn't have to cough up more than what he already had in one night.

The next day, he leaves before dawn, unwilling to see the aftermath of Tooru's intimate activities when he's not involved in them.

Everything has changed for them since that night.

Suddenly, Iwaizumi has become a stranger in his own home. He only prepares food for one now because Oikawa is rarely home in time for dinner. He starts locking his door before going to bed. He tries to spend more time outside on the nights when Ushijima is visiting, but at the end of the day, he still comes home to an empty bedroom, and sounds of Oikawa fucking on the other side of his wall.

A dozen more instances since then and Iwaizumi has had enough. He's coughed up enough to clog their damn toilet on the next flush, and Iwaizumi will not pay for something he has no control over.

It's the only reason why he's out now, drinking his sorrows away in a dingy bar near his university.

He's not thinking about his roommate. He's not thinking about his lips, bruised from another man's kiss. He doesn't think about his chest marred with hickeys he didn't make, doesn't think about the quiet moans that would sound absolutely delicious, had Iwaizumi been the one in bed with him.

Another flower bud lands on his palm, sliding from his throat with ease. He glares at it irritably.

"Oof. I've seen this one before. Tough luck, huh?"

Iwaizumi looks up from his blood-stained palm to find a silver-haired stranger looking at him, his sympathetic gaze betraying his concern.

The stranger introduces himself as Sugawara Koushi, the setter from Karasuno High. He remembers him from back then, the unfortunate third year who had been replaced by a genius. But it's a thing of the past, and they move on to more significant matters.

They go to the same university, albeit taking different programs. Sugawara is taking up Education, and Iwaizumi is taking up Sports Science. They talk about Sendai, about home. About their high schools and their volleyball clubs. And when they get to talking about Oikawa, another bud falls from Iwaizumi's lips as he clears his throat. Sugawara looks at it, as if it erases all doubts from last time, suddenly enlightened, and looks up at Iwaizumi with a sad smile, eyes too gentle and empathetic.

"Heh. Captains, am I right?" Iwaizumi supplies a small smile back and before he could ask, Sugawara raises his glass, and they toast to the misfortune that is his one-sided love.

They put their glasses down and the space between them fills with a silence that is not exactly uncomfortable but is just as charged. Sugawara breaks it with a proposition.

"We can help each other out."

Sugawara doesn't look at him as he speaks, his voice as loud as a whisper can get in a place like this.

Iwaizumi senses something in his tone--there's a vulnerability in there that he's not quite sure if he's heard correctly. So he leans in to ask over the bar's noise; needs to make sure he's as okay as he makes it sound. He leans in and he feels no warmth from the body sitting in front of him, in its place a tenseness he didn't notice has been present all along.

Only then does Iwaizumi realize the silver-haired setter had managed to evade and redirect every single one of his questions. Only then does Iwaizumi pick up the signs: the sickly hue of the skin around Sugawara's pinkish glossy eyes. His hair that looks tousled carelessly, as if a hand had run through it countless times, tugging and yanking, from frustration or from anguish. Yet Iwaizumi can only guess what caused them.

Sugawara traces his knuckles lightly with gentle fingers. A silent plea.

A call for help.

"Even just for a little while." Sugawara mumbles quietly, as if to himself. Iwaizumi hears anyway.

He downs his third drink of the night in one go—a call for help of his own.

He stands up and commits to his decision there and then. He entwines his fingers with Sugawara's own, before leaning down to whisper in his ear.

"My place or yours?"

\--

"How long?"

Sugawara asks after; when they finally calm down, their breaths no longer labored, cheeks no longer flushed.

"Hm?"

"How long have you been dying?"

The silence stretches between them as he considers it.

"A while." He answers. And in a strike of brilliance and humor, he shoots the question right back. "And you?" He asks, knowing full well that even though only one of them has the disease, they are fundamentally going through the same pain.

Sugawara looks at him for a moment, confused, before his mind catches up. He smiles his fakest smile yet. "A while."

He keeps their trysts a secret. Nobody needs to know, and he already knows he can keep secrets better than anyone. Sugawara lives alone, the chance of getting caught there is slim to none, and he takes advantage of it.

Sugawara is as tender as he is forceful, with a lean yet still athletic build hidden beneath the persona of a pretty setter (very much like Oikawa himself, but he doesn't dwell on that fact.)

He is as soft and pliant and beautiful underneath him as he is powerful between his thighs. The same way he imagines Oikawa would be.

The pain in his chest dulls, and for a few hours he forgets that he is sick at all. There's a tickle inside him that has nothing to do with the flowers growing within. There is nothing more to think of aside from the mind-blowing tightness, the painful scratches on his back, the teeth marks on his skin from kisses too desperate to be gentle.

And sometimes he would wake up in the middle of the night with the need to be worked open, and Sugawara indulges him, handling him with the care and tenderness of someone who's been in love and pining for far too long. And Iwaizumi responds the same way.

Except they know what they really are. They know that they both close their eyes because they're imagining someone else, they don't speak because they fear they might moan a different name.

They let the fact that they're in love with different people escape their minds as they come together.

They meet whenever Daichi leaves after visiting with his girlfriend for dinner. It's always at the wrong time, Suga confides one night. It's always when he's on the brink of forgetting, on the cusp of finally moving on that Daichi welcomes himself into his life once more, and he's back to square one.

Their nights together are few and far in between throughout the years; only ever meeting when things become far too much to handle on their own, when the flowers begin to hurt a little more than the usual ticklish pain, when Iwaizumi spits out more than a dozen flower buds in one go.

Sometimes he doesn't vomit for a few days after spending their nights together. Iwaizumi figures he could survive a few more years living this way.

A cancelled consultation with his professor brings him home a few hours earlier than Oikawa expects him. He slips into their apartment mindlessly, routinely, until a gasp stirs him away from his thoughts and into the present. Iwaizumi looks up, taking in the scene before him.

And Iwaizumi sees.

Oh, boy, does he _see_.

It is as if his entire body has betrayed him, his hormones cranking up the sensitivity in his nerves. All his senses are heightened, magnified, assaulting him in every hurtful way possible.

Now, all that he sees is the view of Oikawa lying on their couch, looking so bright and clear in the dimly lit living room, the sun leaking in from the drawn curtains behind them the only source of light. His head lolls back in ecstasy as Ushijima pounds him from above, Oikawa's entire body moving with each powerful thrust. All he hears are the unrestrained moans, the sound of skin slapping against skin. All he smells is the scent of sweat and sex in the air, the intensity of it leaving a bitter taste in his mouth.

His entire body buckles in on its own accord as flower buds bloom deathly fast inside him, and he lands on his ass on the floor, the sensory overload knocking him down like a physical blow to his chest, leaving him breathless.

_Why does this keep happening to me?_

The other two occupants jump at the sound, and the only thing they register in their minds is the sight of Iwaizumi half lying on the genkan floor, eyes gaping at them widely in shock and horror, before scrabbling to get back his feet and launching himself out of their apartment, slamming the door behind him.

_It starts at the moment that the feelings for the victim’s subject of affections makes its presence known. Any encounter related to the person further aggravates the hormonal abnormalities. This is exclusively contracted by individuals with unrequited love, and can be cured if the subject reciprocates the victim's feelings. (See: The Lover's Role)_

_(cont.)_

* * *

Stage 3. Growth

He spends the night at the bar. He calls Sugawara but he doesn't pick up any of them.

By the time he comes home before midnight, the apartment is empty. He walks straight into his room and takes out the dusty travel bag from the top of his closet from when they first moved in. He starts packing his clothes, haphazardly tossing stacks of them in the open compartment.

The image of Ushijima and Oikawa that afternoon sears itself into his mind even as he tries to distract himself.

The doorbell rings and Iwaizumi opens the door to find Sugawara standing in front of him, an apologetic smile on his face as he struggles to talk between labored breaths.

“I’m so sorry! I didn’t see the texts-- I came here as soon as--”

Sugawara doesn’t get to finish his sentence. Iwaizumi pulls him inside and pins him to the wall, ravishing him before Sugawara even realizes what is happening.

“What. What happened?” He manages to ask, but aside from a low grunt and a forceful kiss, Iwaizumi doesn’t offer him much of an answer. He wraps Sugawara’s legs around his waist, and he carries him into his room, locking the door behind them.

He doesn't mind when Sugawara slips in the throes of passion, the name of his love tumbling out of his lips before he covers it up by moaning Hajime's name.

He doesn't let it bother him, keeps fucking hard and fast and deliberate, until the memory fades to the background, until his senses turn numb. Until he has replaced Ushijima with himself, and replaced Sugawara with another face, any and all thoughts leaving his mind except Tooru _._ Tooru _. Tooru_.

Iwaizumi is too tired, too spent to move a single inch.

He watches Sugawara as he crawls over to the other side of his room, amusement bubbling in his chest. "How are you still _moving_?"

"There's a reason I'm on my hands and knees right now, Hajime." He snaps back as he rummages Iwaizumi's bag for clothes. He covers himself up with Iwaizumi's shirt and his own jeans, dressing up as much as he could while lying on the floor. "I'm meeting with a professor at eleven."

"You have fifteen minutes."

"Fuck!" And Sugawara struggles to stand, limping to the mirror to fix himself up as much as he can. "Want me to get you some water before I leave?"

"You are god sent, Koushi."

"And _you_ are welcome."

"Heh. I'd offer you flowers, but they're all stuck in my throat."

Sugawara, speechless, turns instead to look at him with wide, horrified eyes.

He laughs at Sugawara's retreating back, and for a moment he lets himself breathe, savoring the ease of it, because who knows when the next time he gets to breathe this normally is going to be.

"Ah, Oikawa-san! I didn't think you'd be home so soon!"

A beat of silence, and then Iwaizumi hears a hesitant voice. "Refreshing-kun?"

Iwaizumi burrows his face on his pillows. Of course. Of course, Oikawa would come home the one time Sugawara pays him a visit.

"Suga. Sugawara Koushi. Or you can keep calling me refreshing. I kinda like it." Hajime hears the grin on his face.

Nothing else is spoken between them, and after a quick trip to the kitchen, Sugawara sets the promised glass of water on his nightstand before plucking up his bag and heading for the door.

"I'll see you later, Ha-Iwaizumi?"

"Yeah. See ya."

After a moment, he sees Oikawa make his way into Iwaizumi's room, a dazed expression on his face.

Iwaizumi sits up on the side of his bed, before bringing the glass of water to his lips and taking a long sip.

He feels Oikawa's eyes on him. He knows he's looking at his chest, at his shoulders, on areas Iwaizumi knows are littered with bruises and kiss marks from the night before.

The awkward silence settles in, and Oikawa is the first one to break it.

"So. You and Refreshing-kun?"

He cringes, but doesn’t respond.

"Did you-- um. Did he--"

Iwaizumi sighs an expletive in exasperation, blushing madly and _gods, please let this conversation be over already_ , before answering. "Yes. Yes we did. We fucked. God, Oikawa, just say it. We're not kids anymore, christ."

"Oh."

Iwaizumi stands up and moves to his closet, picking up some clothes he hasn't packed yet and throws it over his nakedness.

"I didn't even know you were gay." 

"How would you? We barely even talk anymore."

Oikawa flinches behind him. Iwaizumi feels a sense of satisfaction beneath the layer of guilt, but a sharp pain in his chest quickly wipes off the humorless smirk on his face.

"Why are you packing?" He asks, moving forward to stand beside him.

"Ah. I'm moving out."

Oikawa doesn’t respond, but the questioning look on his face is so transparent that he might as well have.

"It's… uh. It's hard to explain. Things are really… strange right now.” He exhales, his mind going back to the night before, to the past few… _years_ ; reliving the nights he barely slept because of him. He decides to lie. “I don't want to stop you from doing your thing, but recently I just don't feel like I belong here anymore. I feel like an intruder in my own home. I'll pay my share until you can find another roommate. I'm sure Ushijima would be more than willing."

There is a bitterness in his voice that he can't mask, and Oikawa must have felt the venom in his words because he clasps his wrist tight, abruptly halting Iwaizumi's hand from packing any more of his clothes.

"Don't. Don't leave. It won't happen again I promise."

He looks up at Oikawa, and what he sees stops his movements all together.

He knows he doesn't mean it. He knows that no matter how pompous or annoying Oikawa acts around other people, deep down, Oikawa has a well overflowing with devotion for people he cares about.

For a moment, he fools himself into thinking he means a lot more to him than anyone else.

They've known each other for so long that Iwaizumi has had him figured out. No matter how much he denies it, not matter how many people he dates, no matter how far they separate, Iwaizumi will always have a special place in his best friend's heart.

He sees it. In the way Oikawa is looking at him. See the desperation in his eyes, the unwillingness. Like a child selfishly pulling on a toy to take for himself.

Maybe. _Maybe..._

Hope blooms in his chest. Along with his disease.

"I'll tell Ushijima not to come over again anytime soon. We'll work this out. Just. Just please _don't go_."

The silence stretches as he pretends to ponder.

"You'll throw out the couch?"

Oikawa's eyes widened in shock before narrowing in determination. "Yes. Yes, I will."

"And then burn it?"

He wavers. "O...kay-"

"And then clean every single inch of this apartment?"

"Seriously? Isn't that a bit-"

"Goodbye, then."

"No wait-wait! Yes! Yes I'll clean! I'll--I'll burn the couch! I'll wash your laundry for a month! I'll wash the dishes for a _year_!" Oikawa keeps babbling, and Iwaizumi lets him, primarily because of all the blackmail material he's getting.

But also because he can't remember the last time they bantered like this, and he missed it so, so fucking much.

They start rebuilding their friendship that day. He cancels the surgery he impulsively set the day before. He turns down Sugawara's offer to let him stay at his place and begins to slowly feel comfortable again in his own home.

He takes a look at his and Oikawa's mangled friendship and together they straighten it out. They learn to adjust with each other's needs in the new lives they've made for themselves.

Still, they are adamant about keeping the important facets of their friendship the same, not at all willing to change the habits and routine that they've known their entire lives.

And when they finish, what they end up with isn't really quite as pretty, but is still much, much more than he can ever ask for.

With an arm crossed over his torso and the other raised to bring his coffee to his lips, he watches Oikawa, meticulously scrubbing the floors of their living room, bandana on his head and an apron over his chest and he smiles gleefully at the domesticity of it.

He savors everything he is given. Even if it's only temporary. They revert back to their version of normal, made of nights sleeping on the same bed, of study sessions at the library. Of sharing meals and cuddling on the couch. Iwaizumi is given another shot at happiness and he grapples with it, never letting go.

He keeps the surgery in mind; a Plan B. He will always have that escape. When the day comes that he decides to give up his feelings, he'll be ready.

For the meantime, though.

He feels Oikawa's arm tighten around him, tucking his face in the crook of his neck; his subconscious missing him even in his sleep, craving his presence when he's not even aware of it. Iwaizumi smiles.

He can stay a little while longer.

_The next time Ushijima pays him a visit, he isn't caught off guard. Iwaizumi receives his text the day before, saying he'll drop by when he's alone, and he prepares for it._

_But nothing will ever prepare him for what Ushijima came to say._

_"I'm here because you're one of the most important people in Oikawa's life, and I believe the same applies the other way around…"_

No.

“... _People often say I am simple, or oblivious, but I can see, Iwaizumi, just how deep your affections for Oikawa run. I know that you would want him where he’ll be happiest...”_

No way.

_“...I also know that you would rather remain his friend than risk losing him once and for all.”_

Absolutely not.

_“He’s made me happier than I ever thought I am capable of becoming. And I wish for you to allow me this luxury for the rest of my life.”_

Not in a million _fucking_ years.

_Ushijima sits up straight and rests his palms over his spread knees, before bending toward Iwaizumi in a deep bow. Despite his entire being screaming at him to deny it, to kick him out of his home, to take Oikawa for himself and just run away..._

_His inside tears, and he struggles to keep a straight face as his insides threaten to fall apart. In his mind, he sees the image of Oikawa smiling wide, overjoyed, and perfect, and it warms up his heart even as his sickness takes its toll on it._

_...Iwaizumi sees the extent of Ushijima’s will, the sincerity in his words and the fierceness of his dedication in that single gesture. Reluctantly, painfully, Iwaizumi decides that he respects it._

_“I swear to always make him happy. I swear to support Tooru with all my might, to be the man he deserves. Iwaizumi Hajime, Tooru’s best friend... my rival, I ask of you: please grant me your blessing.”_

He coughs up. There are dozens of them now, floating flaccidly in his toilet. He rubs the back of his wrist over his lips to remove bits of clotted blood.

Then, he laughs, shrill and humorlessly, derangedly. His eyes prickle with tears as he heaves once more, his lungs constricting against the flowers left inside him.

It's tragic, really, how one just can't seem to act selfishly when they're in love.

Plan B remains ever present in his mind, now more than ever.

He can still have the surgery. He can still save himself. He _knows_ that. Because no amount of distance he puts between them will ever quell his feelings. No matter how much he avoids it, the disease inside him will keep growing, the hormones will keep forcing him to fall deeper and deeper into the abyss of his ever growing love for someone who's never going to love him back. His feelings will only grow stronger, until there is nothing left of him for himself, until there is nothing left to breathe in but the petals of his unrequited love.

But.

From the doorway, Iwaizumi looks at Oikawa as he leans over the balcony of their room. He imprints this moment in his mind. This is his last day as his roommate, and he savors what probably is the last time he'll see Oikawa in their shared home for the past four years. He watches as the root of his illness turns around to look at him with a beaming smile that reaches his ears, the sunset framing his head so that the light filters through his auburn hair like a halo. He takes it all in. Carves it into his memory.

Iwaizumi couldn't breathe. He is watching an angel shine in its devastating glory before him, and it knocks the breath out of his chest.

He scoffs to himself, even as blush creeps into his cheeks. Even as his heart beats wildly behind his ribs. Even as another bud begins to sprout inside his lungs. He shakes his head in disbelief, for even considering something so blasphemous.

Why in the world would he ever give up something so beautiful?

* * *

Stage 4. Maturity

“I’m moving to America, after the wedding.”

Jaws and chopsticks fall, clanking on their bowls as Iwaizumi makes his declaration. It is quiet for a moment, until a palm smacking the tabletop disturbs the silence.

“Wh-- how-- whe--”

“Calm down Hanamaki.”

“Ca-calm down?!” He's a stuttering mess. His eyes are wide, ballistic and confused, and Iwaizumi can almost see smoke jet stream from his nostrils, and he snorts a laugh. Hanamaki closes his eyes as if to center himself, touching his chest with his palm as he breathes in deep, before extending it in front of him with an exhale. And he speaks again, this time slowly.

“Iwaizumi Hajime. Will you mind telling us, _precisely_ , what in the actual fuck?”

He shrugs. “It’s something I’ve been planning for a while. My application finally got approved to work for the uni in Irvine. California. My plane leaves a week after Oikawa's wedding.”

Three pairs of eyes look at him in shock. He pretends he doesn’t notice and digs in his food like he didn’t just drop a bombshell on their table.

“A while? You’ve been planning this for _a while_ and you never thought to tell us?” Matsukawa asked in that bored, languid tone of his, but Iwaizumi tenses because the hint of mirth that’s usually present whenever he taunts jokingly wasn’t there when he spoke.

“I’m telling you now, though.” He plasters on a smile, and everyone goes quiet at the sight of something so utterly fake.

They let a few moments pass in complete silence. Iwaizumi doesn't notice them looking at him, then at Oikawa, then at him, then back again. He doesn't when they look at each other, an agreement happening without so much as a single word.

Before they know it, Hanamaki is resuming his rant, complete with rice flying from his mouth onto their table and wild gestures that keep hitting Matsukawa despite how many times he scoots away.

He knows it’s an exaggeration, an attempt to keep the mood lighthearted. Like they did not just find out that one of their best friends is leaving to spend the next god knows how many years of his life thousands of miles away from them.

But Iwaizumi can feel Oikawa stare daggers at his head from where he’s sitting beside him, questioning, pleading for an explanation, and he refuses to look right back.

He sees Sugawara by chance one day, and they go out for coffee near their work places.

The time and intimacy they've shared together, no matter how sporadic, gave way to an ease of conversation between them. There's no discomfort in the air. It's been a while since they last talked, and they make sure to catch up on everything that's been happening with each other.

Since Iwaizumi's reconciliation with Oikawa, he found no need to ask for his aid. It makes him think for a moment, if he had somehow left Sugawara in the dust to fight his battles, after he had helped Iwaizumi fight his own.

He's about to ask this when the café door jingles with the entrance of a new customer, and Iwaizumi's jaw falls open.

Sawamura approaches their table and when he reaches them, he leans down to greet Sugawara with a peck on his cheek.

"Holy shit."

They both laugh, and he hears the happiness embedded in melody of their voices. Sawamura and Iwaizumi talk for a while, both excited to meet another acquaintance from their high school days, until Sugawara speaks up to remind them of his dinner reservation.

They stand up soon after, bidding each other with heartfelt goodbyes.

"It's going to work out, I'm telling you." Sugawara says after giving him a hug. "For the better or worse. You just have to be brave enough to take the risk. We both know you don't have much of a choice."

Iwaizumi thanks him. For everything. He hopes Sugawara feels the sincerity of it.

"I gotta go. It was nice seeing you again, Hajime. I'm wishing you the best." And Sugawara smiles. His brightest one yet.

Iwaizumi tries not to feel too envious.

The surgery will clean out his lungs, the doctor had told him, back when he first considered it. It'll take out the root of the disease, save him from certain death.

The surgery will take away all the pain, the suffocation of feelings unrequited. It'll take away all his love for his best friend, and with it, all the memories tied to his entire existence.

And he wonders to himself: if all of his memories of Oikawa were to be taken away,

then what would he be left with to remember?

_The hormonal fluctuations will continue to worsen, resulting in extreme mental disorders such as hysteria, extreme paranoia, and Schizophrenia. However, these symptoms very rarely develop in studied cases; the presence of the fungi prevents this from occurring, as the victim will very likely suffocate first before reaching this stage._

_This may be avoided through respiratory surgery._

_(cont.)_

* * *

Stage 5. Suffocation

In the end, love trumps all. Iwaizumi moves to the beat of his heart like a puppet, all his decisions centered on a happiness that isn't his own.

So he finds himself there, in the middle of the night, sitting on the bathroom tiles in front of the toilet of their shared hotel room one year later.

His head hovers over the water like a hungover drunkard, coughing up the full-bloomed flowers from his lungs. Because it's only then that he feels reality crashing down upon him.

In just a few hours, Oikawa Tooru will be a married man. Married to someone that isn't him.

And he's just had enough of it all.

Iwaizumi will forget everything about him. When he finally gets the surgery after the wedding, there will be no more evidence of Oikawa Tooru in his life.

No more pompous jokes. No more sleeping in the same bed. No more watching lousy movies, or washing gaudy sci-fi shirts that stain everything else. No more needy hugs, or warm laughter, or lingering touches. No more loud yells of _Iwa-chan!_ when he's awake, or soft murmurs of _Hajime_ when he's asleep.

One day, forty, fifty, sixty years from now, he'll have died without the knowledge that there exists a smile as beautiful as Oikawa's.

He runs his hands through his hair, gripping them in his fists as he squeezes his eyes shut, a desperate attempt to sear the memories in his brain. To hide them in the crevices, where the surgery wouldn't reach them and all of what he knows about Oikawa will survive, so that he will get to keep them even when he is gone, even as they part. There is a pile of memories in his mind and he tears through them, reaching out for the ones where he sees Oikawa's face and he takes them, cups them in his hands. He caresses them with gentle fingers because there is nothing more important to him than Oikawa's smile, so beautiful and ethereal and _perfect_ and it deserves all the utmost care Iwaizumi could provide.

He does not notice the bathroom door opening. He doesn't hear the quiet gasp, doesn't feel Oikawa's presence until he is kneeling before him. He doesn't notice that there are tears streaming down his cheeks until Oikawa wipes them away with shaky thumbs, and Iwaizumi could do nothing but sob.

"Hajime." Iwaizumi looks up because he hears worry in his voice and he sees Oikawa looking at the toilet bowl, eyes open wide in shock and horror at the sight of bloodied flowers floating on the water. Iwaizumi remembers the first time he hears of the disease from Oikawa himself, during a lunch break in their high school when things had been a lot more simple. Back when he wasn’t dying yet, and he realizes that Oikawa must understand now what it means.

He braces himself for the conversation he's been avoiding for the past five years.

But it doesn't come.

_Aun no kokyu_.

It's a concept often associated with them, something they hadn't noticed they had polished through the years, strengthened by the friendship they've nurtured since they were old enough to speak. A connection that makes them inherently in sync, an ability that allows them to understand the other instantly with a mere glance, with a single gesture.

Their foreheads touch and a thousand words pass between them, and it is enough.

It's quiet there, where they sit in the bathroom of their executive hotel suite. It’s quiet enough to hear the silent whirring of the ventilation, quiet enough to hear the leak of the faucet Iwaizumi had barely closed in his haste to withdraw. For an outsider, the moment is as peaceful as it can be.

But inside them, something detonates.

A certain warmth radiates from the point of contact. It spreads throughout their bodies and the rest of the world is gone, shattered and in shambles at their feet.

The universe sees them. Sees the string that binds their souls and syncs the beating of their hearts and it bows in defeat. Because even as it threatens the two apart, even as destiny condemns them to spend their lives without the other, their bond remains obstinate, unshakable; an undeniable truth.

Inside, he feels it. Like a weight instantly disappearing, leaving him higher and lighter and happier than he can remember ever being. The passages clear up, the illness in his lungs and in his throat shrinking and rotting, shriveling into nothing. There is oxygen in his chest again and his blood pumps, healthy and vibrant and _alive_.

All the regrets fly over his head. None of those _what-ifs_ , no thoughts of all the chances wasted, of all the years they were _right there_ and yet nothing ever happened, of all the times Iwaizumi suffered from a disease he could've cured right away. All that matters is right here, right now. Right in front of him. Iwaizumi feels like he's flying.

If only for a moment.

Oikawa leans forward until his mouth is so close that only a scant few centimeters remain between them. There is a burning need inside Iwaizumi that craves to feel Oikawa's lips against his own, needs it desperately like it's the only thing staving off his death, and yet-

Yet, Iwaizumi cannot bring himself to close the distance.

Because he knows Oikawa more than anyone else; knows what lies beneath the masks he wears, the persona that he carries. Iwaizumi knows he is loving, and selfless. That Oikawa Tooru is honest, fiercely loyal and faithful, almost to a fault, and he has yet to encounter anyone more perfect.

And Iwaizumi will not ruin him.

"I didn't know," Oikawa whispers, almost incoherent with the sobs that keep interrupting his words. "All this time, Hajime-" his voice cracks before he could finish his name, and Oikawa lets out another cry, almost like a whine, angry and remorseful. "I should have _known_."

Iwaizumi shushes him quietly, a comfort Oikawa always submits to, before pulling him into his arms, where he has always belonged.

He doesn't care. Nothing else matters. He is loved, in return.

Oikawa loves him back.

Iwaizumi breathes. Clear and easy.

There is one thing Iwaizumi concludes from the entire experience.

It is a new truth he embeds in his heart, in his mind. A truth he will carry on until his dying days.

He learns this as he watches Oikawa take Ushijima's hand, as they walk down the aisle together--as life partners, as husbands, as best friends--away from where he stands, to a future where Iwaizumi no longer belongs.

And then Oikawa looks back, searching for him amongst the crowd. When their eyes finally meet, Oikawa's lips lift at the corners, forming a smile that is beautiful yet regretful and a little sad, but it's a smile Iwaizumi knows is genuine.

 _Be happy,_ it says. _For me._

Beside him, Matsukawa grips his waist tight. Hanamaki puts his arm around his shoulder. Iwaizumi remembers that they are his best friends as well, and of course they'd figure it out, of course they'd see through him. They probably knew all along.

His friends keep him up even as his body threatens to collapse, anguished at the realization that it is not enough, after all.

Love is not enough to cure.

His body remains cold, even as steps out of the frigid and ominous hospital building and into the warm sunlight. He walks the miles to his apartment, barely registering the things around him. He is locking himself in the safety of his one-bedroom apartment before he's even aware of it, his thoughts still caught up in the conversation an hour before.

_"Based on your x-rays, there are no traces of Hanahaki left. Your body has already flushed out all the remaining debri from your lungs._

_"All that's left are scars and mild swelling, but those can heal on their own."_

_The doctor mistakes the dread in his eyes for dumbfoundedness, so he speaks again, confusion evident in his voice._

_“You said there was a mutual confession. Even unspoken, the confession holds effective, as we can see here." The doctor expounds, tapping the x-ray results in his arm. "Technically, the disease was already cured the moment it occurred._

_"The Lover’s Role should make things easier now. You are already together, are you not?"_

Iwaizumi wraps his arms around his knees as his mind throws him back to when he was eighteen, reading a book that explained everything about his illness. He could still feel the ghost of that tiny, white flower bud in his fist, the first of many, as he sits on the couch of his empty home here in the present, lamenting the tragedy that has become of his life.

He remembers nothing from his doctor but the word 'cured,' but all he could feel is the heaviness in his heart, intensifying with every day, every minute, every second that passes without Oikawa by his side, and he knows he is anything but healed.

_The Lover's Role_

_Once the victim confirms that his/her affections are reciprocated, the fungal infection disappears instantly._ _The subject of the victim’s affection acts as a cap, mediating the victim’s extreme hormonal imbalance by establishing a committed relationship._ _The awareness of and involvement in this commitment is what calms the victim’s hormones and regulate his emotions, allowing the victim to live out his life normally._

_Only then does the Hanahaki Disease truly begin to heal._

* * *

Stage 6.

The disease changes a person. A single thought, a single memory can trigger an onslaught of emotions. Feelings are intensified tenfold, worsening exponentially with every day that Oikawa doesn't choose him.

Falling out of love, it seems, has become as easy as enduring a bullet forever burrowing in his chest; as achievable as walking naked through a field of fire with embers for shoes.

He closes his eyes, and Oikawa fills his vision again, his heart lurching at the sight. He opens them to rid himself of the image, to suppress the emotions, numb the wretchedness in his chest. Yet he is still there, clear as day in front of him, smiling that smile Iwaizumi oh so loved. The Oikawa before him cradles his face in his hands, fingers skimming lightly over his cheeks and the tears that stain them. He opens his mouth to sob but Iwaizumi's mind fills in the silence with the voice of the only man he ever loved, uttering words never spoken, words he only ever dreamt of hearing.

_"I love you, Hajime."_

_"I’m yours."_

There is a fleeting moment of genuine happiness where he finds himself believing it, believing that everything is real and Oikawa is here and he is _his._ But a traitorous part of his brain wakes him, reminds him that Oikawa has left, and there's nothing Iwaizumi could do or have or _be_ that will ever convince Oikawa to choose him.

He whimpers; a pathetic, feeble sound that leaves his throat. Iwaizumi loses the last of his will and he curls in on himself on his bed, the illusion before him dissipating with the movement. Iwaizumi reaches out, but the imagery slips through his fingers, and he's left grasping at the empty air.

He feels his heart clench tight; another jolt of agonizing wretchedness fizzling through his body as a single picture-perfect memory of the love of his life marrying another man flashes through his mind. He clenches his throat with a tight fist. He knows he is healed. He knows that there are no more flowers left in his lungs to block his air, but at this moment, there is nothing Iwaizumi wants more than to suffocate.

The pain is still there, so raw and real and _excruciating_ and Iwaizumi. Is still. Breathing.

 _No more._ He pleads, but oxygen slips into his lungs again and his heart continues to supply him with life. His mind bombards him with photos taken subconsciously through the years like an album, each page filled with joy and brightness and wonder of the past and the pain lances through him with every page flipped.

Then the memories start to transcend the limits of his mind, enveloping him. They consume him, until he feels light touches against his arms, a warm embrace, a ghost of a kiss pressing against his neck. Until he catches a scent, like the smell of home, of sugary drinks and of his favorite pastry. Of lavender scented shampoo. Until there is a softness against his mouth, against his tongue, sweet and minty and so, so heavenly--his malfunctioning brain inventing a flavor he never got to taste.

He takes a deep breath as if to savor it all, but then everything dissipates, and it is dark and cold, like it's always been. His blood freezes before coming alive once more, pumping life to his desperate and anguished heart.

 _Make it stop_. He screams, but he continues to breathe. There is no one around to hear his cries. He is alone. He always will be.

Iwaizumi's heart doesn't stop beating for a very long time.

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you liked it! Let me know what you think.
> 
> Here's my [tumblr](https://cathgotyourtongue.tumblr.com/) and my [twitter](https://twitter.com/aobacath/status/1310213796120522752) if you're interested!
> 
> Edit: Punctuation and clarified a minor scene hehe


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